The Button
by Kingoftheplankton
Summary: The Courier has a choice to make. Will his memories and experiences in The Mojave help him make it, or hinder him? One-Shot. Rated T.


The Button

Should he push the button?

There it was, in front of him. Taunting him. Begging to be pushed. He could practically hear the thing. It whispered in his ear, speaking of everything he could desire. He could have it all, if only he pushed the button.

Benny would have pushed the button. In his mind's eye, he could see the Chairman of the The Chairmen, smiling at him, those perfectly arrayed ivory teeth shining. Lighting a cigarette with that unmistakable lighter. Locking eyes with The Courier before speaking.

"You can do it, baby. Ring-A-Ding."

Too bad Benny was dead. Don't shoot someone in the head unless you are absolutely sure you will kill them. Or they'll more than likely do the same thing right back to you, one day.

Fuck Benny.

Caesar would have pushed the button. Sitting on that throne of his, 'The Son of Mars' had ordered him to push the button. _Ordered _him. That part stuck in The Courier's head most, still rankling. Who was Caesar to tell him what to do? He'd said that exact sentence to the balding bastard.

'For the good of The Legion,' he had replied.

"Thumbs down, you son of a bitch." That was Boone's muttered line as that wonderful Scoped Hunting Rifle took Caesar's head from his shoulders. He was hidden safely with a Stealth Boy in the corner of Caesar's tent. The Courier smiled at the memory, his scarred lip the only injury he had taken that day.

Vulpes Inculta. The Courier knew he'd push the button, or would if snakes had arms. Vulpes had only cold death now. Boone had seen to that.

Legate Lanius. The Courier wasn't sure about him. He'd only met him once, and he'd been taken aback at his sheer size. Going by the myth and legends surrounding him, Lanius didn't seem the type of man to push the button, and The Courier had cut ties with The Legion anyway. If he pushed the button, it wouldn't be for The Legate.

Fuck The Legion.

Crocker and Moore. They would have pushed the button. They had taken a different tack than Caesar, flattering him, talking up his contribution to the NCR, and ever since he had saved Kimball from assassination they'd been blowing smoke so far up his ass it was hard for him to breathe. He'd even met General Wait-and-See himself, getting a quick pat on the shoulder and a mumbled thank you. God knows he'd push the button. He'd hammer the thing until it smashed into pieces.

Kimball? He'd get someone else to do it.

Chief Hanlon. He probably wouldn't push the button. He wanted his Rangers out of the Mojave and fast. Well, until The Courier had told him Caesar was dead. That had wised him up pretty quickly. The Courier still thought he would resist the temptation though. He was too old (and wise) to risk a change like the one that would be brought on by pushing the button. Goddamn but the NCR made him angry. They had so much potential, after all. But they were lazy, content to lounge around in a mockery of the Old World spouting nonsense about democracy and taxing everyone that ever earned a red cent under their jurisdiction.

Fuck the NCR. Except for Cass and Boone.

The King would love to push the button. Anarchy would reign and he would gain one of his long held wishes- Independence for all in the Mojave Wasteland. And then The King and his little gang could take advantage, raking in the caps.

Fuck The King and his stupid hair. Idiot.

Alice McLafferty. She'd try and force through a law to try and legalize the pushing of the button first. And if that didn't work, she'd hire some merc to do her dirty work for her, just like she had hired The Courier.

Fuck Alice McLafferty. Two-faced bitch.

Elder McNamara. The Brotherhood Elder would have pushed the button. His isolationist tactics infuriated The Courier, and despite everything The Courier said he couldn't get him to listen to reason, not even when Veronica showed him the Pulse Gun they had trekked so far to track down. So he blew the Hidden Bunker up, destroying all remnants of that techno-religious group of fanatics.

Fuck the Brotherhood of Steel.

Jason Bright. He wouldn't push the button unless he had some sort of religious vision that directly instructed him to. If he did have a vision though, nothing would stand in his way until he achieved that goal. The Courier liked Jason, enough to actually to help him with his 'Great Journey.' Still.

Fuck Jason Bright.

Marcus. The leader of Jacobstown. He wouldn't push the button. He'd seen too much of human nature to throw New Vegas and the Wasteland into chaos. The Courier appreciated that. He'd seen a lot too. He'd been around the block.

Tabitha. Crazy bitch. The Courier had no idea if she would push the button. Well, she definitely couldn't, because she was dead. But if she was still alive The Courier wouldn't have liked to have been betting on that decision, lucky as he was.

Fuck Super Mutants. Except for Lily.

Julie Farkas. She'd push the button. Anarchy was her dream. No Gods, No Masters.

Fuck The Followers of the Apocalypse. Except for Arcade. And Veronica too, he supposed.

Papa Khan. He'd push the button and then lead his tribe over the Mojave, pillaging as he went. He tried to pass himself off as some sort of wise old head, leading a band of deeply spiritual followers. To the Courier, all they were were drug-dealing savages.

Fuck the Great Khans.

Motor-Runner. He'd push the button faster than your eyes could see his hand move. If the Great Khans were savages, this guy was something else entirely. Sadistic, drug-addled scumbag was an understatement. The Courier took great pleasure in murdering him in his own stronghold, Vault 3. One shot to the head was all it had taken. He took that sweet chainsaw and took out everyone else in there as well.

Violet, Driver Nephi and Cook-Cook. They'd push the button. If they had heads. Which they didn't, thanks to

The Courier.

Fuck the Fiends.

Pearl. The only way she'd push the button if she could hit it from Nellis. Yet another isolationist ass-hat. The Courier played nice up there, helping them out with their stupid problems so they would assist him at Hoover Dam. That plane was going to come in handy. But when it was all over, those laser cannons on top of The Lucky 38 would be shooting that sucker down. The Courier was certain about that.

Fuck the Boomers.

The Courier spun Maria around on his right index finger. Benny's old gun gave him a sense of peace he didn't really understand. Perhaps it was knowing that the shot from this gun hadn't managed to kill him. The Courier often wondered if he was meant to have this 9mm golden pistol. He thought a lot about destiny these days, and no more so at a time like this. Was he also _meant_ to push the button? Was that his true destiny?

Arcade Gannon. Or 'The Good Doctor' as The Courier liked to call him. He'd push the button, having a mind like to that of Julie Farkas and The King. In all his travels with the old Enclave Remnant, he'd always been probed and questioned by him about what was right. What was the right choice? Was there in fact ever a right choice? Arcade would have said so. The greater good, that was Arcade down to a tee. The Courier mulled it over in his head. Was pushing the button really what was best for the Mojave?

Veronica Santangelo. She probably wouldn't push the button, knowing the strength of technology better than almost anyone left alive in New Vegas. She was a smart girl, and knew the right path to take, even if she didn't like the consequences her choices would leave her with. She'd even admitted the good sense in destroying the Brotherhood, acknowledging them as the growing cancer that they were. The Courier valued her opinion at this crucial juncture.

Lily Bowen. Ever since she started taking her pills at her prescribed dose, Lily was a lot more coherent and useful to The Courier. But he doubted she would have much of an opinion on whether or not to push the button. She trusted The Courier's judgement, and that was enough.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy. She'd push the button, if only to say that it was her who actually did it. She preferred Cass. He always preferred Rose. That's what he called her when they made love, her name escaping his lips in moans of ecstasy. She'd fought it for a long time, hard, but he'd finally won her over at Hoover Dam. Ever since then, The Courier had been walking around with a huge smile plastered on his face. She'd told him she might be pregnant. He hoped it was true. As his finger traced the outline of the button, his thoughts turned to that unborn child. Would they be safer if he pushed the button?

Raul Tejada. The 'Old Vaquero.' The Courier didn't think he'd push the button. The old ghoul had seen real horrors in the untamed wastes. Maybe it was a common thread with the older generation. They'd seen too much. As flawed as Vegas and The Mojave were, they all knew it was better than before. The Courier liked Raul a lot. He hoped he would live to see another great power-shift that would finally work in his favour. Which it would whether The Courier pushed the button or not. Either way, he was going to be a very powerful man very soon. As long as The Legion were defeated.

The Courier knew he'd already went over it, but at that moment he felt a strong need to empathize- _Fuck The Legion._

Rex. Ever since Lupa's brain had been transplanted into the old cyber-dog's head, Rex had been a formidable ally. The faithful mutt may not have been able to push the button, but it was comforting for The Courier to know that whatever choice he made, Rex would stick by him.

ED-E. Would it push the button? The Courier sometimes thought the eye-bot had a personality. He knew he was kidding himself, but he swore that occasionally it would emit small bleeps if someone told a joke, for example. ED-E, out of all of them, had been with him longest. Just like Rex, The Courier took solace knowing that ED-E would follow along with him regardless of whether he pushed the button or not.

Craig Boone. Would he push the button? 'The Last Thing You'll Never See.' Apt name, as Caesar had learned. In truth, The Courier had no idea. Boone's life had been torn to pieces long before The Courier happened upon him. He had helped him recover from Bitter Springs, helped him move on. Boone finally had a purpose, which was watching The Courier's back. Whatever The Courier did, as long as it wasn't helping The Legion, he knew Boone would acquiesce.

And so it came to be that The Courier who had been shot in the head with the very gun he held in his hand, and survived, stood in front of a sterilization pod high in The Lucky 38 casino. In front of him, the button sat invitingly. All he had to do was push it, and Mr. House would be no more.

He'd snuck in, dodging the numerous Securitrons and House's cameras until he came to the great chambe rwhere Mr. House lay. The Courier had looked at him through the clear glass of his small pod. A tiny, decrepit old man winced back. All that was left of the human form of Robert House.

The Courier spun his beautiful pistol once more, before resting it lightly on the button.

**34 hours later**

The Courier stood in the penthouse of The Lucky 38. Before him was the great computer screen, and looking back at him was the face who had adorned the inside of Hoover Dam the moment The Courier had stepped into that control room and installed the override chip. The face that The Courier was delighted to see, because it meant that New Vegas was in safe hands. The Courier addressed the screen.

"We did it. I can't quite work out how, but we did it. The plan was flawless. But now the real work begins," The Courier broke off, smiling a smile that could best be described as wolfish. "Doesn't it, Robert?"

Mr. House's projected face looked down at him. Though the expression could not change, The Courier practically felt his fear radiate through the building.

"The House Always Wins," replied Mr. House, his cool mechanical voice barely altering, attempting to maintain some crumb of authority.

And with that, The Courier hopped up the stairs and got into the elevator, tapping a small detonator in his hand as he did so.

Inside the sterilization room, Mr. House's ancient eyes could not help but look through his glass container. Almost unable to move his head, he could still see the button from his position.

It was covered in C-4.

The House Always wins, right?

Wrong.


End file.
